


A Voice of Another Kind

by Kitchencupboard



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Gen, X-Men: Apocalypse Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitchencupboard/pseuds/Kitchencupboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean doesn’t tell the Professor. He is fine with oversharing of the telepathic kind, but this is something else. Sansa is something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> At the moment, this is a series of one-shots in the same universe. It might become a story later on.

Jean is used to hearing voices, loud and soft ones, tired and jubilant. She finds some solace in the knowledge that they are other people’s minds for she is never alone, even if she is never understood. 

When she was a little girl, before the Professor came, she knew to keep what the voices said to herself. One conversation with her mother about what Daddy had “said” about the “pretty lady from next door” acquainted her with the notion of over sharing of the telepathic kind. It was alright to tell her mother that the mailman was coming “now” before he turned the corner on their street, but not some other things. Jean couldn’t understand where the adult-mandated line was, so she stopped trying to share. 

Now, she deals with voices of another kind. They aren’t alive and they aren’t dead, she knows this with a kind of power derived certainty. It’s really more like one voice. A voice that screams in the darkness, that whimpers and whines. It’s a restless voice. Her name is Sansa Stark. She looks like Jean. She’s very very dead. Sansa is certain. Jean is not. 

It won’t be long before Jean realises she cannot really convince Sansa of anything. Sansa gave up on trying to be convincing long ago. 

Jean doesn’t know what to do with Sansa. She looks in the mirror and Sansa says she sees her own face, her own body, in the looking glass. But their minds…their minds are different. Sansa’s is beaten down. She sees the stares of the other students and cowers in fear, certain that their classmates’ own fear will turn to hate and violence. Jean doesn’t think it will, she trusts the Professor. He’s like her; she’s made in his image as far as the minds of those around her are concerned. How can they truly fear her when their saviour’s voice is also in their heads? When his understanding leads only to compassion? When the walls shake they are afraid of her, but they aren’t about to act. But, Sansa can’t hear their voices. Sansa is alone, except for Jean. She was alone for the longest time before Jean heard her and she’s still desperate for companionship yet afraid of it. 

Jean doesn’t tell the Professor about Sansa. He can’t hear her. When he visits her dreams Jean is scared, afraid he will hear Sansa’s screams alongside her own, afraid he will sense Sansa on the edge of her mind, but he doesn’t. Sansa is only Jean’s. Jean knows that the Professor is fine with sharing of the telepathic kind, but this is something else. Sansa is something else. Jean isn’t sure she wants to share her, not even with her Professor. 

Then the school burns, the Professor is captured, and Apocalypse is upon them. Jean stands in a ruined building while the Professor pleads with her to help him…and she does. Her body burns and she feels true power for the first time. She feels powerful. Sansa is gone. Jean is gone. Phoenix is born. 

Phoenix will never be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is prefaced on the idea that Sansa died after jumping (you know the jump ;).


	2. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is ten the first time her Professor visits. In his wake arrives Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is non-canon per some sources. Jean manifests earlier.

Jean is ten the first time her Professor visits. He arrives on her doorstep at 4:44 p.m. It’s a Thursday and Jean is home alone. Her mother is out shopping and her Daddy is at work. The weather is sunny and the mailman has already come when she feels a mind at the edge of the street and knows it isn’t any of the usual suspects. It’s someone new, and his mind shines. It glints and swirls as she feels him walk up the path to her family’s bungalow. His name is Charles Xavier it broadcasts. He is a teacher. He wants to know her. Minds with strong personalities do that sometimes, they tell her who they are, but never so loudly. No adult, save her parents, has ever wanted to know Jean for just herself before. 

Looking back, she’ll think, he isn’t her Professor when he arrives. He isn’t anyone’s professor yet, but she knows then that he will be. His mind is so sure, so clear and purposeful. It is the kind of mind that doesn’t bend from the task at hand. At that moment, Jean thinks with certainty that Charles Xavier will become important to her, for she has never seen a mind like his. If he doesn’t seek her out again, she will trace his mind to wherever his body resides. This is her first experience with telepathic fascination and Adult-Jean looking back will think her childhood self rose to the occasion. Self-fulfilling prophecy has always been the only kind of prophecy Jean believes in, Sansa didn’t need to teach her that. She wants him to be important to her, so, if she has to, she will make sure he is. 

In another world, the Professor will come to her door with a man named Eric Lensherr, Jean’s attention will be split, but in this world he is alone and his mind shines. He doesn’t tell her that he comes to her because he’s seen her power through Cerebro. If his mind shines and ripples, then hers burns his senses. She is the strongest light in a world filled with them. Red and blinding. 

“Hello, Jean,” he says. Sitting beside the living room’s orange plaid couch. She hasn’t given him her name, she realizes. And she smiles. Her eyes flicker with an internal fire. 

She dreams of fire before he comes. The dreams are new. They flicker along the edges of her every thought. Annie is dead. The turn of a car going a bit too fast down a residential street, the thump of an impact, and her life-long friend is gone. A cry of her name, “Jean!” and a whisper in her mindscape “Let me go”. Her friend is dead, and the dreams of fire seem to have taken her place. An ever present companion without a name. Her house rumbles in the night when the dreams are at their strongest. The ground shakes but her parents sleep on. 

He takes away the dreams, the man called Charles Xavier. He delves into her head and the fire is pulled away from her a flickering flame at a time and is locked somewhere deep and dark. There is a void where there had been stars and flame. The Professor sits, his face sweaty and his hands shaking. Jean thinks, later, that the void is how Sansa gets in. Her voice fragilely echoing in the dark, emerging from a place where fires burned an hour before, “Hello”.

The Professor tells her what she is then. A mutant. Like the Hero on the lawn of the Whitehouse. Like Magneto, the villain of the American People’s nightmares and news broadcasts. The man her Daddy called a “Monster” and then glanced out of the corner of his eye at her where she sat on the carpet, his mind guilty. The Professor leaves her in her parents’ house with its Formica table and its orange shag carpet, and goes to build a school. 

She doesn’t see him again for two years. It’s fortunate, she thinks, his absence. Despite her telepathic fascination, she needs time to let another relationship evolve. It gives time for Sansa and her to decide what they are going to do, who they are going to be free from any sort of constraint. From the moment the fire receded into darkness, Sansa has always been the most interesting person in Jean’s world. Her “Hello,” has always resounded the loudest for all that it was so quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter - Jean and Sansa talk


	3. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a woman standing inside her, inside her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple pov changes.

“Hello,” Sansa says. Jean doesn’t know her name is Sansa then. For once, Jean knows nothing about a person that “speaks” to her, voice like a shiver in her own mind. The voice is quiet, a whispering thing. 

Jean looks to the Professor. She knows it isn’t his voice, his voice shines like his mind does within hers. He hasn’t heard the quiet voice. He is still sitting beside her speaking about his plans and what it means to be a telepath. His mind is excited and focused on his explanation. He has only ever met one other like them. Telepath, the word takes a place of importance inside her. This is what she is: Telepath, Mutant. 

The Professor’s hands fly through the air as he speaks. He had done something to her moments before, but she cannot fear him for it. She had felt his certainty that he was helping her, not a drop of malice in his actions. Two fingers to his temple and a void appears within her mind, so sudden. Yet, the fire in her mind is gone and there is the quiet voice in its place, and she can’t find it in her to be angry. 

She’s tense though. Jean may not blame him but she needs to investigate the changes within herself unobserved. She grips the couch slightly and says to her future Professor, “Can you excuse me?” He gives her his assurances that he can. She walks slowly into the kitchen and out of his line of sight. Jean feels like every inch of distance she covers across the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor is miles and miles. When she makes it down the corridor and into her room she does not relax. Another kind of girl would have sighed in relief, but Jean has never been ordinary. She squares her shoulders plants herself on her bed and slips into her own mind. She is ten, but that doesn’t mean she has to be afraid. 

There is a woman standing inside her, inside her own mind. This isn’t an image she controls of someone far away or a mind nearby to slip into. She knows her parents’ minds intimately, they were her playground once before she learnt to stay out, but she’s never had them in her head before of their own volition. When the Professor asked permission to enter he had fully immersed himself but he was still a shadow image compared to the women in front of her. No, this was something different, someone different. 

“Hello,” Jean says back. She knows her voice is tentative, more tentative then she wants it to be. She sounds loud though, next to the voice of woman in front of her. “Who are you?” Jean wants to ask a dozen additional questions, “What are you? What are you doing in my mind?” being chief among them. She constrains herself to one though. Minds have a strong sense of self, the information they project most often are their names or their occupations, the labels most likely to be closely associated with each person’s identity. People’s minds most readily shared unasked with her the aspects of themselves they are most used to sharing with the world. 

The voice. No. The woman. She doesn’t seem to be the sharing kind. She stares down at Jean. Towering over her, in her own head! Her hair bright and her skin pale, she shouldn’t be intimidating. Jean musters herself, she thinks of the heroine Lizzy Bennet from her favourite novel and says imperiously “My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me!” 

The woman’s face softens, even as her shoulders straightened from their hunched position. “I apologize. I had no intention of being intimidating”.

Sansa looks down at the child in front of her. She is adorable, like a cat all puffed up and ready to fight. Sansa remembers another girl who faced uncertainty like that and vows to be gentle with the girl in front of her. Arya had liked cats and there had been a certain similarity between her and the animals she terrorized all over the Red Keep. Arya had been quick to anger, to fight, to run. In the end, Sansa had envied her little sister those instincts. It is hard though, to look at this child that could have been Arya or her and…oh. Realization strikes her. Their faces are the same. It is her child face staring up at her. 

The Sansa from the time before traveling south, before Joffrey’s madness, before her father’s death, before Little Finger’s betrayal and plots and teachings, before Ramsey, would have had her shock show clearly on her face. Jean sees no shock. Perhaps Jean’s ignorance is not solely due to Sansa’s hard taught nature though. Jean is used to knowing if people are shocked or scared, tired or hungry, she isn’t used to having to rely solely on facial expressions and body language. It is new for her. It is special. 

“My name is Jean. How do you do?” Jean smiles. Jean will act like a lady too, like Lizzy Bennet.

Sansa curtsies,“Sansa Stark. Daughter of the North. Lady of Winterfell.” She is a Bolton now, Sansa recalls distantly. Not a Bolton by choice though, and she wishes Ramsey dead and hopes he experiences the punishment of whatever god wants his horrid corrupted soul. 

A real lady! Like Lizzy Bennet or Arthur’s Queen Guinevere. A lady! Like her and Annie had pretended to be. Princesses rescuing themselves from the Dragon. “The North, like Canada?” Jean had gone to Canada on holiday with her parents’ once, it is the only country she has ever visited. 

“I apologize. I am not familiar with Canada. It is a place?” Sansa’s lips purse. Something has happened to her. One moment she was flying. She had known then that the price for her escape from Ramsey might well be her death, but she could not turn back. Theon was with her, his hand clasped with hers, then…silence. A void. Darkness despite the fact that she knew, somehow, that she had no eyes to see it with. She had no hands to try to reach the edges of the space around her. She screamed. Her voice seemed to still exist. Her voice pleaded in the dark, waiting for an audience, for help. Then this girl. Small. Red hair shining. Her own face, but younger. The face of the girl in front of her is unlined. Youth untouched. Sansa lets herself hope. Have the Old Gods answered? The Seven that are one? Where is she?

“Yeah, it’s a country.” Jean stares at the lady in front of her, “I don’t know where the North is Miss. But, well…I know where you are.” Jean is suddenly afraid. She remembers when her Daddy first realized she had been “digging around” in his head. She was six-years-old. Her parents had spent the night arguing in the wake of revelations she had unwittingly made possible. Jean had let slip her father’s thoughts about “the pretty lady from next-door” and her mother had screamed at Daddy for hours for “vulgar language in front of Our Child!”. There been hours more of mental screaming. Even after the tears had stopped and the verbal accusation had all been made her parents still screamed in their heads. The word “affair” were whispered over and over and over in her mother’s mind. Jean had slipped into the living room then. Her Daddy was on the old couch, the green one that sagged in the middle which her mother had thrown out a few months later. She’d told him what she had done. He’d been scared then. Jean had been in his mind and he was so frightened, frightened of her and frightened for her. The later fear outweighed the former in the end. He made her promise not to tell anyone about her ability, not Annie or even her mother. Jean promised, and she’d kept that promise until now. Her Daddy still worried. Jean would peek into his mind every now and then and see that he was scared of what would happen if someone found out. Of men and what they could do to someone they didn’t understand. He never said the word “mutant”, not even in his head, that had been left up to Charles Xavier. 

Jean’s recollections take less than a second, if any time at all could be said to have passed within her own thoughts. “You’re in my mind. I’m a telepath you see,” Jean pauses “that’s a mind reader”. 

Sansa freezes. Magic. Magic beyond her ken. Is she in the girl’s mind? But she must be dead! She’d jumped and she had likely died upon landing. The height of the wall must have been too great. At least she is free of Ramsey. She is a ghost. A shade, perhaps sent to guide the girl? But, the girl seems to be sure Sansa is in her head. Can the girl, Jean, be a mind-reader like she claims and yet Sansa still a ghost? Yes, Sansa decides, both things can be true. She is a ghost of some kind. At the very least she is dead. Jean knows nothing of the North. Sansa old life is dead and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa believes she is a ghost, but whether Sansa is right or not is an open question. She's ready to embrace the idea that she’s dead because of the psychological place she’s in at the moment and because she jumped off a big-ass wall. Things will change. Jean thinks of Sansa as a woman instead of a teenager because she’s ten.


	4. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a girl like Arya and her had once been. She is privileged and precocious yet still somehow sheltered.

After the Professor leaves, Jean goes out into the backyard behind the bungalow. It has been a few hours since Sansa’s arrival and yet she remains in Jean’s head. Sansa had tried to talk to the Professor. She’d yelled so loud that Jean’s head had hurt. They’d argued beforehand about whether it was appropriate to try. Sansa was sure she was a ghost and thus might be hearable by everyone. With the Professors inability to hear her, she became despondent and quiet. It gives Jean time to think in relative peace.

What should she do with the strange woman in her head? Should she tell anyone? No, she decides that Sansa will stay her secret for now. The Professor hadn’t heard Sansa and Jean hadn’t really wanted him to. She’d fought against revealing Sansa’s existence. Her parents are scared enough of her as it is. Her knowledge of her mutant identity is too fragile and new. She wants a moment to get used to her new knowledge before she explores Sansa’s presence and its implications with others. She wants the Professor to look at her and see another telepath not a girl with a woman’s voice inside her head. And, most importantly, Sansa is her secret to unravel. She knows it’s selfish of her, Daddy would scold her if he knew. Sansa isn’t a thing. Sansa is a person. But, Jean is sure she will have time to change her mind later. She can share Sansa’s existence when she's more certain of what it means to be a mutant and when her parents are more confident that their daughter isn't going to shake the house down. For now, it’s better that Sansa stay secret.

Sansa’s nature as a secret doesn’t stop them from talking once Sansa’s emotions have calmed. Jean’s feet swing in the air as she pushes her backyard swing as high as she can. She will fly as high as she can. She's a goddess of the air. The grass is green below her and her blue shoes glint in the sun as she pumps her legs.

Sansa, it seems, is not a fan of heights. Heights are how she’d died she says. Jean feels intrigued, is Sansa about to tell her about her grisly, nasty death? “I most certainty am not. Death isn’t something to be entertained by. Let me tell you.”

“Oh, please do!” Jean is in earnest. Sansa deflates and then deflects.

“Shall we talk more about the differences between the Seven Kingdoms and here?”

***  
Sansa resolves to keep much of her past a secret. Jean is innocent despite her powers. Jean has not come across a person like Ramsey and she hopes Jean never does. She knows with cold certainty that she can do more than hope. Jean is powerful. She’s a reader of minds. Jean will know the nature of men before they even entered the same room as Sansa and her.

All of Sansa’s troubles would have been solved if she had known who to trust and who to run from. Her father might be alive if she had had such a power. That was to say nothing of Jean’s other nascent power, to move object with one’s mind! With work she might have the strength of a hundred men in their prime!

Sansa feels no jealousy toward Jean. Instead, she feels a sense of lightness, of hope, stemming from her new found knowledge of the girl’s existence. Here is a girl like Arya and her had once been. Privileged and precocious yet still somehow sheltered, Jean’s life is filled with opportunity.

Jean sighs, Sansa’s attention has wandered from their discussion and she can sense it, “Alright, you seemed very interested in the television?”

“There is nothing like it where I come from.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it is a very singular thing.” Sansa remembers Jean’s relative youth. “There are not so many books either, nor do we have lights like yours. There seem to be many differences.” Sansa had only seen the girl’s home. It is large, colourful and bright, and filled with things of wonder. She feels trepidation when she thinks of the wider world. Jean has carefully shown her images of other places. School takes up much of Jean’s memories, another foreign concept.

“And you have no Mutants?” Jean cuts to the topic that interests her most. Sansa’s memory flashes to Arya at Winterfell asking where the Imp was.

“None. I couldn’t imagine a gift like yours before my arrival to this place.”

“You thinks it’s a gift?” Jean’s eyes widen and her lips upturn. Sansa can’t help but think that the girl will be beautiful when she grows. Jean is waifish at the moment; the product of a recent growth spurt. Sansa assures herself that it isn’t vanity to think the girl pretty. Jean is a different person despite their shared face.

“Yes,” Sansa says, her voice sounds surer than she feels. She is here for this girl. Her experiment with the Maester, called a Professor here, has proved why she is in this foreign place. She was upset initially. She was alone in a strange world with only a ten-year-old girl for company. Sansa knows what it is to be different though, to be set apart, and to have some potential use to others because of a difference outside one's control, a difference one should be proud of. In Joffrey’s court, she’d been different by virtue of being a Stark. “My father was a traitor, your grace,” became the mantra of her court life. She was used for her name by men like Tywin Lannister, Little Finger, and Ramsey. She would not see Jean used for her powers. As they walked up the road to the Eyrie’s Bloody Gate, Petyr had given her a good piece of advice “Know your strengths and use them wisely and one man can be worth ten thousand.” Little Finger was dead and Jean was no man, but she might yet be worth that much. Sansa would not have Jean be forced to find safety by denying her powers’ existence like Sansa had been forced to deny her kin.

The hiding had already started. The girl’s father had told her to spare her mother the knowledge of her power. Both, Sansa thought, with her more mature mind, to protect the girl from her own mother’s reaction and to spare more upset in an already fragile household. The memories the girl had of her parents were precious but troubling. It was not right! Sansa trembled. She had no body and she had no voice, but she had one ability that she would use, an ability to counsel and thus protect this girl from her own naiveté. She would be her voice to confide in the night. She would be her friend. Her sister. She would guide the girl and she would help Jean build a future for herself where she could be powerful. She would forge a protector of the weak.


	5. A Father’s Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was alright to play the hero, but it was something else to do so as a pretty eleven-year-old defending your classmates from a typical schoolyard bullies every thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean is getting older. Here is a glimpse of another limited perspective.

Annandale-on-Hudson was the sort of place where one could raise a child in peace. Dr. John Grey had been assured by his wife of it’s suitability from the day they moved into town. Not, he thought, with a militant frown, that Elaine’s opinion on the subject had ever had a chance to make an impact on there decision to move. He’d been given tenure to teach history at Bard College. It wasn’t the sort of position a P.H.D in history with as obscure a topic of study as his could afford to pass up. People just didn’t appreciate farming customs of Pre-William the Conqueror Normandy like they should.

Jean seemed to like it though. Her friend Annie and her were thick as thieves. Running in the park nearby, swimming at the local pool, those girls were everywhere except for where their mothers were.  
Annie’s death was a tragedy. He had sympathy for her parents. It could have been Jean lying dead in the middle of the road. To lose a child that way, unthinkable. But of course, most of his concern had to be reserved for Jean. The Malcolms had other friends, but Jean only had one father. She only had one parent that knew she could hear her friend’s thoughts as the girl lay dying on the road. He didn’t regret keeping his daughter’s powers from his wife, but revealing them would have made domestic life easier.

In the wake of Annie’s death there had been nightmares. He’d found a specialist on mutations named Charles Xavier. Things had shaken in the wake of her nightmares, and, although he kept the fact that he noticed hidden from Jean as best he could, it had prompted him to find Xavier. He told Elaine the shaking were the aftershocks of an earthquake and he tried not to think about the real cause too often or too loudly. Xavier seemed to have helped, while his visit was out of the ordinary and unannounced, the results spoke for his effectiveness.

Jean, he thought, probably still didn’t know about the shaking. Keeping something hidden from a telepath was not something he would recommend as one couldn’t even afford to think about what one was hiding. His solution had been to retreat. Not emotionally, but physically on occasion. He’d stay in his office after he was done his work and give himself a half hour to clear his mind of any and all stress. 

Elaine, he was certain, projected stressful enough thoughts about Jean and everyone else. Elaine was a source of tension for him and all he had to go on was her face and her posture, he couldn’t imagine reading her mind. 

He could not afford to have his daughter know of his own fears, to feel his stress. He couldn’t let her know that every time he heard the word “mutant” on the news he winced. He couldn’t help thinking of what might happen to his baby girl if she was ever discovered.

His way of coping was why he reserved some tasks for when Jean and Elaine weren’t present. He knew he had succeeded in keeping certain things from Jean and therefore any and all future attempts were worth the added effort to exclude them both from certain conversations. When Jean’s sixth grade teacher called and told him there had a been “an incident” at school, the first question he’d asked was if Jean was present. She wasn’t, Ms. Patterson made clear, as she had already left for home when the teachers learned of the “problematic situation between her and another student”. Once the phone was down, he sighed in relief. Perhaps he could soften the teachers’ opinions before Jean had to read them from their very minds.

He quickly called his wife. She was, he realized, not at home, thus the teacher had called his office number. This was in keeping with his plans. There would be hell to pay from Elaine later, he was sure. He would be told he was usurping her authority over all things domestic by going to the school on his own. The whole neighborhood would know that she’d shirked her duty as a mother, again John! He couldn’t find it in himself to be overly concerned. Elaine would do what she wanted and he would do as he pleased. Jean was his daughter as much as Jean was hers. He felt a bit guilty at his thought, their marriage’s state was partly his fault, but Elaine was so damn persistent with her complaints!

His arrival at the school was as speedy as he could make it. He parked his car and nearly ran to the Ms. Patterson’s classroom. The last year had been filled with upsets at school. He repeatedly told the teachers she was grieving for Annie, first he’d said it to Ms. Nichols and now Ms. Patterson, he was absolutely sure that he would say it to the next year’s teacher as well.

It wasn’t grieving that Jean was doing. She wasn’t lashing out in confusion. On the contrary, his little girl knew exactly what she was doing. She was a telepath acting on a telepath's information. She'd told him a month or two after Annie’s death and Xavier’s visit that she’d decided not to let her classmates' crueler thoughts slide anymore, "Daddy, if they think something mean they are as good as saying it.”

It was not, he’d told her, strictly speaking true. “Jean, you need to let some thoughts go. What a person says in their own heads should not be policed!” He had been frustrated when he had made that remark, but the truth was he was afraid she was growing more judgmental and that her actions would get her into trouble with more than just a school teacher before long.

It was alright to play the hero, but it was something else to do so when one was a pretty eleven-year-old girl defending your classmates from a typical schoolyard bullies every thought.

The bully in question was a repeat offender, as bullies often are. A part of him was quite proud of his girl. He had been bullied himself at her age, his head stuck in a book as often as he could fit it their and a toilet only as often as he could not avoid. Yet, this Tom Branks wasn’t the real issue. She needed to learn to be compassionate about other’s thoughts, to give others time to reconsider their positions and to give them credit for holding them in, for restraining themselves. He thought about Dr. Xavier. He had been useful a year and a half ago, perhaps he could help Jean again?


End file.
